


And We All Fall Down

by Dana



Series: What Doesn't Compare [1]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Dash o'Sam whump, First Time, M/M, Right?, Was supposed to be a five things but that didn't quite work, it's really too long, some other stuff too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 14:03:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14956031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: Something so wrong should never feel so right (that means it's actuallyright).  (Or, five times Sam and Gene slept together, while Some Other Stuff happened)





	And We All Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a super short five things/five times-type story, because I was pretty dang fond of those in their prime. It ended up as something else completely, but, I still like it enough to post it (thanks for the hand-holding to those who Know, since posting is Scary As Hell). Not betaed, so, if anything sucks, you know who to blame.
> 
> This is the first time I've posted something long in quite a while, and man does it ever feel good.

**I.**

It was a pathetic box of a room. Once upon a time, it must have been used for storage; here and there, across bleak grey walls gone darker in spots with grime, were paler patches that showed where the paint job was starting to fade, was peeling outright. Deep white scratches across the floor showed where some piece of furniture or another had been dragged out. It couldn't have been a recent thing, the shelving torn out and the room being gutted – there was too much dust. But in a pinch, it made a descent enough prison for two trapped coppers.

There was only window, up high in the wall, and a single burned out bulb that hung from a mess of tangled wires – classic. A piddling amount of light shone in through the box of an opening, which wouldn't prove to be much of a problem until night crept in. And even though Gene had already tried his luck with the window while his DI had been out of commission, after he woke up and Gene had filled him in on all that he'd missed (which wasn't much of anything, really), that wasn't any sort of deterrent to Sam.

No, he stretched until he was standing on the tips of his Cuban heels, fingers just brushing at the gnarled base of the window frame, then jumped at it, and wouldn't he have looked a right fool, hanging on for dear life. Not one to let a thing go without a fight, he whirled about about, demanding Gene to hoist him up. If he could just get a closer _look_ at it, surely he could get it open. After he'd whinged and whined like the nancy little sod he was, Gene gave in to his demands, if only to shut him up. Arms tucked tight about Sam's waist, his nose full of Sam's scent, leather and sweat and _rage_ , he'd lifted Sam up, back straining at the effort.

It was little less than nothing, what Sam had to work with: the lock was a mangled mess, and after he'd prised at it with his fingers, and cursed a fair streak, the daft bastard decided to give the window itself two quick punches. Gene let him go and Sam dropped back down to his feet, because the last thing Gene needed – after everything else – was for Sam to do him some lasting harm and bust his knuckles wide open, to go with the nasty bump on his head.

Sam went melancholy after that, drifted about the room as though he hadn't paced the perimeter fifty times already, looking for something he most assuredly must have missed, though Gene was quick to point out he was grasping at straws. But that was Sam, the sort who didn't give up without a fight, and then would go on fighting, just to drive the point home. Anyhow, beyond the grime of the window was the cluttered end of an equally narrow back alley. Gene knew it, and Sam had to know it, too, It was doubtful someone would have heard them, even if they'd been able to open it and get a shout out. So their situation was dire. Shit.

But Gene really was getting ahead of himself. They'd come out to Markham's site because he was the best lead they had – he was the sole witness to the armed blag they were investigating, and though Sam was dead-set in his belief that Markham was somehow working with Louis, their equally sole suspect in the matter, humouring Sam was its own means to an end.

Markham had greeted them outside, nervous as always. The warehouse he stood before had seen better days, just like the rest of the heavy industrial area it stood in. He'd invited them in, poured them draughts of whisky. He was oozing sincerity out of his every pour, really did seem to want to work with them and be of what use he could be. Which was what made Louis popping from the shadows and popping Sam upside the head with the butt of his pistol such a bloody surprise.

Gene shot up from where he'd been sitting, pulse surging through him and whisky splashing all over as his glass hit the floor. Markham looked ready to piss himself from shock, and Louis grinned like the cock-sure bastard he was as he trained his gun on Gene. Gene, though, took a step forward, because no one did bollocks and bravery the way he could – the blood was thundering in his veins and Sam was out cold on the ground, a trickle of red winding down from below the rough edge of his hair.

Louis shook his head, grimaced, shifted his gun to where Sam lay prone. That was when Gene stopped, put his hands up, shooting a red-hot glare at Markham, who shrunk back as though he'd been struck. Oh, when Gene got his hands on him, the weasel would _pay_. Anyone who was anyone knew how DCI Hunt was when it came to taking care of his men.

Louis gestured with the gun, said 'pick him up', and Sam had groaned again, softly, as Gene had hoisted him up, got his arm about him. Markham crossed the room and stood by the door that, up until then, Gene hadn't paid much attention to; he'd had other things on his mind. Markham stood by it, at the ready, even as he fidgeted in a nervous fashion; threw the latch, pulled the door open as it moaned on its hinges. Louis jerked his head into the grey-lit entryway, grinned. 'Get in there, now.'

As soon as they were in, the latch clicked into place after the door swung shut. Gene's scowl could have melted glass, but did nothing to the heavy frame, and Sam – a bit of a dead-weight, him being out cold – was heavier than he looked. Gene let him down until he slumped against the wall, and, being as careful as he could be, stooped down to stroke his hair back and take a good look at the bastard big bump that was already starting to form.

But his breathing was steady, his pulse was strong. Gene stood back up to put his quite magnificent attention on the door that barred their way out. Studied it, tried to shoulder it in, only, the latch was too strong and the door itself was too heavy, and he'd end up in worse condition than Sam if he kept trying to beat it down. When Sam finally roused to consciousness, Gene had taken to the floor, sitting nearby. Only had one flask on him, so he was taking his time as he drank.

Sam jerked to attention, sat up, and too quickly at that. 'Shit,' he exhaled, put a hand to the wall to steady himself, fingers splayed out wide. He was shaking, pale. 'My head. What the – fuck.' He pushed himself up, still supporting himself against the wall, but he winced as he touched his forehead with his other hand, scowled at the blood. 'Markham – '

'You want a drink?'

Sam scowled at him. 'No thanks. What's going on?'

Only seemed fair that Gene brief him on the situation – it was dire, sure, but hardly the worst they'd ever had, and just like Sam had worried might happen, Louis had got to Markham first. Sam had stomped about the room, a little unsteady on his feet, at first, but quickly gathering his nerve. He tried kicking the door in when shouldering it in got him no where fast, and finally, after all that, as well as his little stunt with trying to punch in the window, he'd finally sat back down, dejected and slumped.

The room was small, and Sam was sat just as far away from Gene as he could get. He was leaning against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, looking like he was ready to cry, or curse some more, or scream. He did none of those things, shifted about, then drew his arms tight about his chest. 'Annie knows we've gone to question Markham. When we don't show back up, she'll send someone to find us, it's just a matter of time.' 

Their luck was only getting worse. If Sam hadn't forgotten his radio in the car, they could have already been in touch with the station; if Gene hadn't forgotten his lighter, he could have had a fag.

Gene huffed, took another drink. Sam glared at him. The bruise was starting to purple looked even uglier now, though Sam had wiped at the blood the best that he could, stained the cuff of his shirt in the process. The room was small, as Gene had stated already, and miserable, and bleak, with the sole hanging light a burned out bulb, and yeah, he's gone over the lot of it already, but he was feeling dead stuck.

And the light from the window, up so high in the wall, was fading fast.

With sunlight, there had been warmth. As darkness fell, the cold seeped in. Gene felt it through the legs of his dress-slacks, tugged his camel-hair about himself and took another swig of whisky, but a lot like the light, it couldn't possibly last. Sam, so far away from him, and yet so close, shivered, hugged himself more tightly, tilted his face to the side and effectively shutting Gene out of his line-of-sight.

And it got darker, and colder, and drinking really was the only way to pass the time, because Gene wasn't in the mood to make small talk. For once, neither was Sam. Only then, because, eventually, he really did need to speak up – the whisky was gone, for one thing – he said into the darkness. 'Oi. You still awake?'

There was a shuffle across the room, a sigh, and Sam's surly reply of, 'What do you want?'

'I get it, okay – Markham was our big lead, but he's been working all along with Louis, you were right about that. And sure, it was your idea to come out and – '

' _Gene_.'

' – look, it is what it is, I'm not trying to shift the blame. Get over here, you bloody nonce. It's cold as hell in here, you're going to freeze.'

'I'm fine,' Sam snapped. More shuffling, and Gene heaved a heavy sigh.

'I can't take you anywhere, can I?'

The silence that followed was heavy, but fleeting, broken as it was by Sam's sudden laughter. 'Well,' Sam said, slowly. 'You did drive us all the way out here. Are you sure it's all my fault?'

Sam's laughter warmed him in ways the drink hadn't, and he smiled into the darkness as his eyes started adjusting to the thick gloom. Hoisted himself up, hand to the wall, shuffled across the room and plopped back down onto the floor, with Sam right beside him. Their shoulders bumped together, reassuringly, real.

'How's your head?'

'Couldn't be better.'

'And your hand – and your foot?'

'Nothing's broken, if that's what you're worried about.'

'Good. Cause I'm stuck in hell already, no need for you to whinge and whine. But really, what possessed you to punch the window?'

'I really don't know. Seemed like a good idea, at the time.' Sam leaned into him, a steady, heavy weight. Gene shivered, but it certainly wasn't from the cold.

'Warmer now?'

'Mhmm.'

'And you're sure you aren't concussed?'

'I'm fine, don't worry.' Sam's head was heavier where it pressed against his shoulder, and Gene shut his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. 'We just have to wait it out.'

'Not like we've much choice.'

'Oh,' Sam sighed. 'There's always a choice.'

They lapsed into silence once more, and though it was just about as pitch black as it could get, and Gene could kill for a fag, it was a lot more peaceful, now that Sam was right by his side. Not perfect, not by a long shot. But beggars couldn't be choosers, and Gene Hunt? He didn't beg.

Gene's own breathing was evening out, and he knew when Sam had drifted off – from the softness of the little noises he made as he slept, to the way the fingers of his left hand, dropping down to rest on Gene's thigh, twitched as he dreamt. He didn't fight it as he drifted off, following Sam to dreamland. And dream, oh, he did, though they burned up like mist in sunlight each and every time he woke.

He woke plenty, and each time, Sam was a little bit closer to him, leaden as he slept. One arm tucked about Gene's waist, under his coat, the hand clutching at Gene's shirt. Sam's breath, hot on his neck, Sam's chin, sharp against his shoulder. Sam's leg, tucked up over his, hard edge of his heel pressed to the back of Gene's calf. Each time, Gene drew the coat in tighter, drew Sam in closer. A soft little murmur, the smallest bit of motion as Sam shifted to get more comfortable. And then Gene would close his eyes again, and drift away, and sleep, and dream.

He woke again, this time with a start. Sam was pretty much plastered against him, heavy and warm and God, it shouldn't feel so right. Even though Gene's head was aching, and the wall was hard and cold against his back, he'd not felt so nice and needed as this in a long, long time. He shifted his arm, slid it about Sam's waist and tugged him a bit closer. Because it didn't hurt. Because was Sam was dead to the world, dreaming. He murmured, and Gene shut his eyes, and – 

A heavy knock at the door roused him fully, and he felt Sam jerk awake in his arm. '...but are you sure?' That was Ray. There was more talking, other voices that Gene could easily place – Chris, and Annie too. Sam looked deliriously happy as he moved to stand, but all Gene wanted – it was a greedy thought, just one more – was take Sam by the arm and pull him back to him and never, ever, ever let him go.

'Annie, is that really you? We're in here!'

'Sam!'

He'd crossed the room and, still smiling, pressed his hands to the door. 'Can't you just unlatch it? We've been in here all night.'

'...it's busted. We'll about and see if there are any tools. Just, sit tight! It shouldn't be too long!'

Sam turned about, beaming, and Gene – because it only seemed right – grinned at him. He picked himself up off the ground, dusted himself off, and Sam leaned his back to the wall, to the side of the door, smiling that 1000 watt smile of his, rumpled and relieved. 'Just like I said. All we had to do was wait it out.'

'Yeah? I'm sure you'll recall, I didn't disagree.'

They were standing close again, Sam in Gene's shadow. Sam barely even flinched as Gene reached a hand up and gently brushed a finger at the bump on his head. 'How's it look?'

'Thankfully, it could always be worse.'

Sam grinned, and Gene grinned right back at him as he braced one hand to the side of him, then drew his chin up and scowled as he shouted through the door, 'and make sure you grab some cigarettes! I haven't had a bloody fag all night!'

Sam chuckled, and closed his eyes.

–  
–

**II.**

'Oh my God,' Sam giggled, teetering about in front of the door to his flat like the drunk he currently was – and the madman he could sometimes be – before tottering back and falling against Gene's chest, _oof_ , just like a sack of bricks. One with very tight trousers, and a very nice arse, and a neck that didn't actually go on forever and Gene wondered, sometimes, what it would feel like to get in close, lick a line from – nope, nope, nope. Gene gave him a shove forward, all friendly-like, as he shoved those unwanted thoughts as far away as possible, which made Sam laugh again. Not that it was all that funny, but Gene was pissed, too, so he laughed anyway as Sam bounced off the still locked door.

'Wassa matter there, Sammy-boy?'

'...the lock. It's stuck.' Sam rattled key about, shot a glance back at Gene, grin glinting as it widened. 'I think I'm in need of the Gene Genie's expertise – give us a hand?'

Gene snorted, motioned him aside. 'Oi then, give over, Gladys.' Sam stepped away and Gene put his shoulder to the door, hard, and stumbled in to Sam's dreary little grease-stain of a flat, laughing some more as he regained his footing, all the blood in him rushing to his head. While Sam went to secure the front door, Gene made straight for the bare corner of the room that could, arguably, be called a kitchen; and they'd fought about it, before, when they'd both had too much to drink, more drunk than even now – when there were countless other, better things for them to have chosen to argue about.

But it wasn't really fighting, was it? No, it was enjoying the little things, with the man who very well might have been his very best friend, the dearest – if almost most frustrating – he'd ever had.

Sam, after making sure no lasting damage had been done to the lock or the latch, shut the door and locked it, stumbled away, and collapsed face first onto his bed with a little grunt. He grumbled as Gene made a ruckus, rummaging about the shelves and pushing around bottles of spices and seasons left out on the worktop, looking for signs of Sam's booze. 'Bloody hell,' Gene growled. 'Haven't you anything t'drink?'

A boot came flying from across the room and thunked against a cabinet Gene hadn't yet searched. 'Check there.'

'Oh.' Gene stooped down, to get on level with it. 'S'just where I was about to look.'

'Then why did you ask?'

'Guess I felt like your ego needed the stroking. Cheers.'

Sam chuckled. It was a soft, sleepy laugh – Sam needed more booze in him, pronto, or (and it made perfectly good sense, the way Gene looked at it) else he'd end up passing out, down for the count. 'So you were throwing me a bone. Thanks, Guv – much appreciated.'

'If that's how you want to take it, sure – whatever helps you sleep at night, Dorothy.'

He stood back up, twisted the cap off the bottle and peered at the label – Glenlivet, and not a bad year on it, either, what a nice turn of events. After a surreptitious look about the place, he found two mismatched tea cups, one with a floral pattern and the other plain, dark blue, that very quickly became filled. 'And while you're at it, get yourself some proper drinking glasses. These'nes are rubbish.'

'Will do, Guv,' Sam murmured.

'Oi, wake up, sleeping beauty.' He'd sauntered, really it was more of a stumble, over to the bed. 'Here – have a drink of this.'

Sam sighed as he pushed himself back up to a sitting position, put a hand to the bed frame to steady himself, ran a hand back through his hair in an effort to tame the mess. It did no good whatsoever, but nonetheless Gene found it to be charming. It wasn't often that Sam looked so dishevelled, hair he kept fastidiously tidy sticking up at all angles. And Gene, not that he'd meant to – only he could, because they were both pissed – stared. Sam had undone the first few buttons of his shirt, and Gene was rewarded with a teasing glimpse of pale, smooth chest. And it was a reward, because for as obnoxious as he could sometimes be, as he kept driving the point of the matter home, Sam could also be quite pleasing on the eyes.

'Well look who's gone and got himself good and comfy.'

Sam laughed. 'My eyes are up here.'

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

But he had seen Sam starkers already, and it was a thought that kept him warm, of a cold and lonely night, even before the missus had gone away forever – Gene knew he wanted something, but he was too much a coward to admit what it was. Maybe the wife had known, and leaving him was a blessing – good luck and all that, cheers and be well.

Sam wriggled out of his jacket and dropped it on the far side of the bed, then held out his hands so Gene could pass over the drinks. Then it was time for Gene to remove his gloves, and pocket them, and shed his coat, though instead of dropping it willy-nilly on the floor, camel-hair on top of black leather, he hung it at the door.

'We're in for the long haul here, d'you understand? Drink up.'

Sam nodded and, having decided which cup was his, took a long drink from, lashes fluttering down. 'Mhmm.'

'Ta.' Gene took his cup back and, even though there were plenty other places for him to sit about the place, he joined Sam on the cot. The thing rattled and groaned as he sat, and Sam shifted sideways, sat flush against him now. Gene tapped his mug against Sam's. 'To living another day.'

Sam chuckled, though the fit of humour quickly passed. Silence rolled in and Gene knew exactly what it meant, the only thing it possibly could, after the week that they'd had, after the night at the pub that had followed, and all the things that Annie had said to Sam, the ones that Gene hadn't meant to overhear. He nudged his shoulder against Sam's, gave their cups another soft tap.

'None of that, my dearest Samuel. Who needs birds?'

Sam quickly gulped down some more of his whisky. 'God. I should have known something was off.'

Gene turned to look at him – better to gauge what he needed to say, or do (with Sam, sometimes it was better to shake him about than try to reason with actual words) – and he found himself staring, all over again. Sam's eyes were extra glossy, his lips pressed together in a thin, long line, not quite a frown and just as far from being a smile. The blush was hot on his cheeks, invitingly so, and there was a glimmer of whisky that clung to his mouth, tempting Gene to act. To move a little closer, to press a little deeper, and kiss him, just to see if he could get away with it – and Sam, well, he never did let him get away with things _just because_.

Sam shook his head, sighed. 'Whatever. All good things come to an end.'

He meant himself and Cartwright, but the same thing went for Gene and his missus, like a house of cards folding in on itself, flimsy as all get out, not meant to be. Sam turned to look at him, and though he made up his mind as he smiled, there was still a hint of melancholic sadness in his eyes. 'But not us, eh?'

The words, and the smile, altogether? Were almost more than Gene could take. And the smile, damn it all to hell, was heart-meltingly warm; Sam could be a cold bastard when he put his mind to it, but here and there along the way, it was good to be reminded he was capable of actual human emotions. 'No, never us.'

The smile made that mouth of his that Gene knew could be wickedly sharp, look so, so, deceptively soft. Gene drew back, sharply, only just realising that he'd been leaning in, what was getting into him? Sam blinked, blinked again, went 'oh', and pressed his cup to his lips as he closed his eyes. Took a long, deep drink, tipping his head back.

Like Sam knew what was going on inside his head, and Gene didn't know a thing.

Gene swallowed as well, watching as Sam swallowed his liquor down. He found that his mouth was achingly dry, so was his throat. As he took another drink, just as suddenly, his hand clenched and his nails scraped over tight denim. Just when had he set his hand down on Sam's leg?

He pulled back, coughed. 'That sounds about right. Just seems to be my luck, to be stuck with you forever.'

Sam took his statement as it was intended, not as it might have sounded – there'd been no sting, no vitriol, no hate in Gene's words; for all that it was true that, yes, sometimes, Sam was his least favourite person in the world.

He supposed it was a dangerous way to think of things, that there was a possibility that they could get _forever_ – they were coppers, and theirs was an equally dangerous line of work. Or if something else like Morgan ever happened again. Or if Sam simply decided, no matter what else he'd ever said, that this wasn't what he wanted, where he wanted to _be_ – 

If one of them was promoted, or if one of them ended up transferred away.

If – oh, bloody hell. Gene wasn't really the sort to fixate on the _ifs_. Not now, not ever. He was here with Sam, so it was meant to be.

Sam's eyes came back open as he leaned his head against Gene's shoulder. 'Good. I – ' Sam huffed softly. 'I want to be here.'

'Right here, eh?'

'Yes, right here. With you.'

Then, with a sigh that shouldn't have been so shaky, and a too-tight clenching at the pit of his stomach, Gene spoke up again: 'I need more to drink.'

But Sam moved more quickly. He got up to fetch the bottle, brought it back over with him, didn't spill a drop as he topped off Gene's glass, and then his own. Set the bottle up atop the bed frame before he plopped back down onto the bed, just as close as before. Gene shook his head, and they drank some more in silence.

He wasn't quite sure how it went from that, from drinking and drinking some more, to Gene waking all of a sudden, a warm body pressed against him, one that was breathing quite steadily, but softly, and so very close. He blinked into the early-morning grit of Sam's flat – a quite particular shade of faded dish-water yellow that he only ever witnessed at Sam's – and he nudged at Sam's shoulder, who mumbled and shifted in front of him.

It wasn't so terrible a situation to be in, really, Gene taking up most of the cot and Sam squeezed in beside him, even if their legs were tangled together, even if they were pressed front to front. He wasn't even sure he wanted to move any more, feared the bed couldn't take it. Just sleeping together, peacefully? It was a miracle the bed hadn't collapsed. Surely, if anything more strenuous were to happen, the cot would pay the price.

And they were very, very close. If Gene stretched at all, he'd bump into Sam, and Sam likely would have ended up arse over tits on the floor. His thoughts wandered as he gazed at Sam, so close to him, face peaceful as he slept, lips pink and plush and parted; thought of those more strenuous activities, and doing them with Sam. There was a whole lot Gene wished he could get away, but plenty more he'd never dare risk. And it would be a bloody big risk.

He wasn't quite sure it would be a mistake.

Because maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it. Since they were almost touching in so many different ways already, Gene would have only been making a good thing better. Blow them both away.

Sam opened his eyes and stared very deeply into Gene's, and Gene's heart skipped a beat. How long had Sam been awake? Just how much had he _noticed_? Then, without another moment's hesitation, he broke the heavy, quiet moment by saying the sort of monumentally bastard-like thing he was best known for: 'Oi,' he said, grinned as he flicked at Sam's sleep-rumpled hair. 'I've a mighty need to piss, you'd best get out of the way.'

Sam grumbled, and did just that.

–  
–

**III.**

Gene was livid, and try as he might – and he had tried – there was no way for him to twist the truth around and foist the blame of the situation onto Sam; oh, he could have, might have even, once upon a time, when he was a different man. Since Sam had first sauntered into his world, he'd changed plenty. It went beyond, and deeper than, than him not stopping with the backhanders – he still had plenty of that stashed away, had never known what to do with it – but sure enough, that was a big part of it.

But he liked to be right about the stupid things, too.

Sam's the one who'd told him it was a waste of time to drive all the way out past the boundaries of the city, hoping against hope that some old mates from his earliest days as a copper had information regarding the bastard they were tracking down; Sam had been as prickly as a pear as he'd told him off for drinking with those mates instead of getting absolutely anywhere with said lead; had even mentioned something about the car needing petrol, and if Sam was mentioning it then why hadn't he done something about it himself? Only that was all a world away.

Now it was pitch black for miles around them, only the moon and stars lighting the way, and the Cortina was parked to the side of the road, cause of death, a bone-dry tank.

Gene was sat against bonnet, nursing his wounded pride with the flask he kept the second-best whisky in. 'Bollocks,' he said to the sky, which said nothing back at him.

Sam, in a way that was decidedly uncharacteristic but still incredibly annoying, hadn't mocked him for getting them stranded in the middle of nowhere, hadn't said much at all, hadn't huffed at him like a bird, hadn't smacked him around like the bloke he actually was. The silence spoke louder than words. Gene guessed that was something Sam had learned from Gene himself – pot and kettle, that sort of bastard bloody bollocks.

'Here,' Sam sat beside him on the bonnet, 'I found a packet of crisps in the back seat. Let's tuck in.'

'Prick.' Gene growled, but snagged a few of the crisps and shoved them into his mouth. 'Your lack of an objection is really starting to bust my chops.'

Sam popped a crisp into his mouth, feigned innocence in his wide dark eyes. 'What have I possibly done to offend?'

'Nothing, that's what – you've not given me the bollocking I deserve.'

Sam chuckled, took the flask that Gene had, wordlessly, held out to him. 'You know you're at fault, how could I possibly want for more?' The sarky little git did have a point.

Gene grunted, a non-committal enough response, though honestly, Sam was seconds away from getting a well-earned smack. Sam took it as it was offered, instead of as it was intended, and passed the flask over, popped a few more crisps into his mouth, still looked just as cheeky as he could be. The night was wearing on, and the temperature was dropping, and Gene hadn't really been all that angry, not even at the start. They emptied the flask, and the packet of crisps too, right down to the crumbs.

Sam shifted closer, and Gene didn't complain. The heat was nice, after all, as the night was so cold. The moon, shining from on high, cast its light upon them, and the hilly, scraggly landscape that spread out from the road. Sure, they could have hiked back to town with the petrol canister, hiked back out. The way was well-lit, other than the pitfalls the darkness, and the hills, doubtlessly obscured, just waiting for some poor sod to take a wrong step into a – a poor sod called Sam Tyler, because Gene certainly wouldn't have been the one breaking a sweat. Either way, there was plenty of black spots that might have hidden dangers within them, which made a trek back to town into an unnecessary risk. The road, narrow and winding and old as sin, wasn't much better.

No, they'd be staying the night in the car. If they were lucky, then some other motorist might happen upon them, and give them a hand. Gene wasn't betting on it, though; if he was going to bet, it would be on a sure thing. A night alone with Sam, out in the wilderness, well, it could have been better. But it could have been worse.

'Stars are nice. So's the sky.'

Gene shot a look towards them, squinted. 'If you like that sort of thing, sure.'

'It's so vast. Makes you feel so small in comparison.'

'Bollocks,' Gene huffed.

'You're saying that a lot tonight.' But Sam threw his head back and laughed, lifted a hand up to scrub across his eyes. 'What was I even trying to say? Nothing compares to Gene Hunt.'

Gene smirked, tilts his head to the side. 'Now you're seeing reason.'

The stars passed by overhead. They sat a little in silence, made some idle chatter. Gene smoked a few cigarettes, just to pass the time. When Sam drew his arms in tight, he sighed and shook his head. 'I guess we could try to get some sleep. We're getting nowhere fast.'

Gene flicked the ash from his cigarette, tossed it down to the ground, crushed it with his heel.

After a bit of negotiation, they agreed it would be best to keep to their own side of the back seat, but it was Gene's car and he got first dibs, and Sam would just have to deal with that. Gene stretched his legs out as far as they could go, sighed as he settled himself in, and Sam scowled at him, tried to make himself comfortable despite the obstacle. He drew his own legs in tight, looked away and closed his eyes as he pillowed his hands beside his head. But the night was cold, and they were only two men. Sometime in the interim, as Gene had slept, Sam had clambered from his side of the cab over into Gene's.

He was stretched out alongside Gene, back to front, hot as all hell, breathing so softly and steadily, Gene felt a stirring in his depths. Gene closed his eyes and nuzzled into the hair at the back of Sam's head as he slid an arm about the other man's waist, enjoyed the scent of him, the feel of him in his arms. Drew him in tighter, slid a leg up to better keep him from falling, felt the blood surging in his veins and his dress-slacks going terribly tight.

'Gene,' Sam murmured, shifted about.

Gene didn't hold on as Sam started to move, sitting up before turning to look back at Gene, deep longing in his eyes that couldn't be masked. Gene followed suit, sat up, drew his legs in tighter, gave Sam more room to sit at his side. He licked at his lips, but Gene could tell that the wheels were turning.

'I don't suppose you'd like to…'

And Gene licked at his lips, and Sam's jaw went tense. With apprehension, with want, Gene couldn't rightly tell – only then, he made a decisive move. They shifted about to get more comfortable, there wasn't much room to spare. Only this was actually going to happen, and Sam's arm shot out to grab at Gene's tie. With a rough jerk, he pulled Gene to him, leaned in closer.

Gene was seeing it all, and it was crystal bloody clear.

He put an arm about Sam's waist and pulled him closer. He nuzzled at Sam's neck, licked that curving line that he had often wondered about, but that wasn't good enough for Sam. No, Sam pulled Gene's mouth up to his, and his mouth was sinfully hot as it slid against his own. He took a deep breath and, as he considered what sort of mistake they were in the midst of making, Sam pressed in quickly and was kissing him, glorious and deep.

It was definitely the sort of mistake Gene would be happy to make again and again.

Gene groaned into it, and Sam tightened his hold on Gene's tie, braced his other hand against Gene's upper arm. Gene pulled Sam up onto his lap, and there was no fussing, just Sam's body rubbing against his, and kissing, such wonderful kissing. Gene growled and Sam moaned, and as Gene slid his hand down Sam's shirt, felt soft, smooth polyester and the buttons that were just begging to be undone. Nails scraping over denim, he palmed at the hardness in Sam's trousers, and Sam bucked into it as he moaned, kissing with furious intent.

It was only just starting, could only get better, and Gene was going to get what he'd wanted all along. He let his fingers drag up until he could tug at Sam's zip, couldn't wait to get his hand on hard, hot flesh, and –

A car honked and Gene jolted, and shoved Sam away from him, tumbling right back onto the seat. Sam looked just as shocked as he felt, red-faced and wide-eyed, and Gene shot a look out to the road and the car that was parked there, the man who was climbing out of the driver's side door.

' _Shit_.'

–  
–

**IV.**

Gene slammed his way into the office but there was no getting away from Sam, who pushed the door back open before it could close all the way. He was doing what he was best at, being a pain in the arse – never letting well enough alone, he was hot on Gene's heels and spitting flames. 'We aren't finished, Hunt! I want you to tell me why you released Phillips after everything we went through to bring him in in the first place!'

And Gene, who was tired of all this shit, who'd been pushed to the very limits of his patience only for Sam to keep _pushing_ , turned about face and punched Sam in the face. He acted without thought, but the truth was, it felt mighty satisfying – his knuckles against Sam's jaw, the _crack_.

Sam stumbled back, hand to his face, stunned and shocked, with Gene breathing so hard, he was quite ready to burst. 'We're finished when I say we are, and you know exactly why I had to let Phillips go! The evidence you touted about – '

Sam straightened up and, absolute murder glinting in his eyes, launched forward like a rocket and socked him, hard, in the gut. Gene doubled over with an _oof_ , breath knocked from his lungs, stars dancing in front of his eyes, and the next punch that fell stung just as sharply, hitting his arm. As he jerked up straight, Sam bounced back a few steps, something wild in his eyes as he bared his teeth in a grimace, fists up and at the ready.

'You absolute prick,' Gene snarled, and leapt forward, knocking into Sam and sending them both crashing into the wall. Sam's head went _thunk_ against glass, and as they hit the ground, Gene's balled up fist hit Sam, whose teeth glinted angrily in his mouth as he struck out another blow.

It should have been over and done with, easy as all that, but Sam was putting up one hell of a fight. They rolled about on the floor, kicking and punching, tooth and bloody nail, neither wanting to let the other get one over the other. Oh, sure enough, Gene was bigger than Sam, and tougher, and he hit harder. Sam could be aggressively defensive, given that he was slighter, and more flexible, agile and quick. But if Gene wanted to end this fight, he'd have done so in a moment. Which raised a question, one that danced at the edge of Gene's mental peripheral – as they scrapped about the room, limbs flailing, just why was he letting it go on?

There was something about fighting Sam that peeled him back and dug at him with sharp little nails. Fighting with Sam, whether it was shouting or with fists, got Gene going in ways that little else could compare. The only thing that came as close had been them snogging him in the back seat of the Cortina, like a pair of horny tweens. Gene had touched heaven, tasted ambrosia – what a way to think of it. But he had been thinking of it, constantly, even those times Sam was going out of way to piss him off. And there were plenty of those.

Fuck.

Gene growled. Enough was enough. He flipped Sam over, hard, felt the breath leave him in a similarly hard puff. He grabbed for Sam's arm and yanked it over to the other, where he could keep hold of them with his much larger grip. Gene knew that he had won: he had gravity on his side, his natural bulk, though that was no deterrence to Sam, red-raced and fire-eyed as he wriggled fiercely beneath him, still trying to kick out.

It felt amazingly, horribly wonderful, Sam pinned beneath him, Sam grinding against him without even knowing. Gene let out a ragged breath as he bent his head forward, sweat-streaked hair hanging down in lank curls. 'Shit.'

Sam went still beneath him, but for his breathing, which was deep and slow. Carefully measured. Gene's knees were hard to the ground, straddling Sam as he was, their legs pressed deliciously close, cloth to cloth, and with them both so _hard_. Gene felt it, god, there was no denying it. It made his heart leap, made his pulse race – as his heart pounded, and his cock throbbed. Made him want to shag Sam, right there, right then, on the somewhat-grotty floor of his all-too-grotty office. It was suddenly a good thing he'd chosen not to head to the pub at the day's end, that Sam had followed him so doggedly.

There was a damp sheen of sweat on Sam's face, a trickle of it running into the blood on his lips, smearing it like a pool of watercolours, different shades of red and pink. That had to sting, and Gene wanted to ease that hurt. Irony at its finest, him having busted Sam's lip in the first place – and he bent even lower, shoulders aching, every part of him straining, as his lashes fluttered but his eyes didn't shut, and he put his mouth to Sam's.

It took no effort, or so it seemed, for Sam to wrench and arm free and bury it in Gene's hair. There was a soft sting of pain, Sam pulling too hard, but it was wonderful, it was perfect, it was the slick, soft heat of Sam's mouth, the sharp, clever stroke of his tongue. They kissed at such a leisurely pace, but Sam's hand stayed tight in his hair, aiming to keep him where he was needed, not letting him pull away.

And Gene could have, if he wanted to. Wouldn't have broken a sweat, even.

Only he was sweating already, burning hot with polyester sticking to his skin. He pulled back slightly, their lips still touching, Sam just wasn't having it, he wasn't letting Gene _go_ And his eyes, they were wide and dark and endlessly deep, unfocused with the most powerful of lusts.

'What are we doing here?' he asked, voice gone rough.

'Not kissing,' Sam quipped, tugged his mouth back down. And Gene fell into it so easily, the hot slide of their tongues, the feel of Sam's body pressed so intimately close. He slid an arm about Sam's tight waist to draw him closer as he rolled them both onto their sides. It was more comfortable that way, and it was easier on his legs, and his thighs, and it was almost as if he were constantly discovering something new. Some new way to Sam to move against him, some new sound to come from his mouth.

Sam quickly slid a leg up over his, heel pressed hard to the back of his calf, the way he'd done a lifetime ago, a world away, in the back seat of the Cortina, when they had been _so close_ , so close. He rubbed his groin against Gene's, demanding and impatient and _there_ , where Gene wanted him to be.

'How is this only just happening? I've wanted you so long,' Sam whispered, mouth to mouth. 'I've tried, I have – oh, god, _Gene_.'

'Yeah,' Gene replied, finding it hard to think straight. God, he felt Sam's dick straining through his trousers, hard as stone and just needing Gene to touch it. Gene was not a poof, had never thought himself queer, only here he was, here Sam was, and there was no escaping the fact of the matter. Sam's dick in his hand.

Sam threw his head back, groaned out loud, deep and loud and long, a tremor running through him as Gene took his cock in hand. He'd dealt easily with the zip, shoved Sam's y-fronts out of the way to get at the flesh beneath. 'Gene, please,' he gasped, pulsing in Gene's hand.

Gene slid his other arm about Sam, hand to the back of his neck, fingers sliding up into his hair. Sam grabbed his upper arm to get a better hold on him as Gene started to work his hand up and down, Sam thrusting. Eyes falling shut, parted lips so pink and glossy as he gasped and groaned. Nails digging down, the hard blunt edge of them sure to leave marks. And Gene wanted that, wanted all of Sam. Here, today. Maybe he was a sap for thinking it, for needing it. _Forever_.

'Tell me,' he growled. Sam's eyes fluttered open, dazed and lost in his need. 'Tell me where you want to be.' Silken hot flesh in his hand, sticky with pre-cum. ' _Tell me_.' There was something in his tone that reminded him, Gene Hunt did not beg – but here he was, so close. And him just about ready to burst.

Sam moaned, lashes fluttering. 'Right here, Guv – with you.'

Sam thrust and Gene pumped, hard, and as Sam tensed and groaned and threw his head back, bumping into the edge of the settee that was so close, Gene was only just noticing, he came all over Gene's hand, all over his belly.

'Oh, hell.'

Sam got an arm about his shoulder, warm and sticky in between where their bodies were touching, his forehead hotter where he leaned it against Gene's. 'I hope you don't think that's the end of it,' he said, and Sam's eyes twinkled as Gene put a hand to the back of his neck, settled in to kiss him. When he drew back, it was with new purpose in his eyes.

'I'm really hot.'

'Well, for some bloody reason, we're wearing far too many clothes.'

They stood, shaking, working on buttons and flies and belts, too much clutter, and all of it in the way. 'This shirt is certainly out of commission,' Sam groaned, and Gene laughed, deep and throaty, as he gave Sam a shove back towards the settee.

'Guv?'

Sam's eyes were wide – deep, dark, check and check. Inquisitive? That as well. Still horny as all hell? Definitely. 'Haven't got time for all this chit-chat, Tyler,' Gene growled. Sam smirked at him, turns about, spreading his legs as he draped himself over the arm of the settee, one of his knees braced against the worn green cushion. He still had his socks on.

'Is this better?'

Gene stepped in, prick in hand. 'Bloody hell.'

Sam chuckled. 'I'll take that as a yes. Just, I hope you have some hand lotion or something… I'm not too sure I can take you dry.' His tone was bloody well dry.

Gene, still holding onto himself, wandered over to his desk rather directly and found what he was looking for. 'Hand lotion, righty-o.'

Sam chuckled. 'Never say that again.'

He smeared some of it onto his hand, then onto his prick. Got in really close so he could rub at the crack of Sam's arse, smearing it with pre-cum and lotion. 'We'll find something better for the next time.'

'Some condoms, too. That would be nice.'

'Oh my god, Samantha – let a man enjoy himself without you needing to talk, talk, talk.' And he did enjoy the sight that was lain out in front of him. Reddened flesh stood out so starkly against skin that its so much paler. Gene enjoyed it it, majestic as anything, standing over Sam, and him about to be run through. 'Wonderful,' he groaned. 'Finally, listening to my orders.'

'Guess I felt like throwing you a bone,' Sam snickered.

'A bone,' he said, words rumbling. 'I'll show you…'

Flash slapped against flesh, and Gene pressed into Sam with the very tip of his thumb. Sam shuddered as he gasped, then went absolutely still. And really, he presented such a – pretty isn't the right word, really – raw, that's closer to what Gene meant, such a wonderfully raw picture, _waiting_. Gene twisted his thumb and Sam tensed up, clutching at the shirt and the arm of the settee, tightening around him. 'Alright, Guv –,' desperate and breathless, the wanton little heathen, ' – point made. And for all I'm gagging for it, an' all…'

A few more trembling gasps, as Gene fingers him slowly – still with just his thumb, and him needing some more of the lotion – one hand coming to rest against his pale backside, whiter yet against the raging heat of Gene's prick. 'So what exactly do you want from me, Sam?' He twisted about and Sam _moved_ with it, back and forward and everywhere at once.

'St-stop t-toying w-with me, G-guv – '

'And what would you say to it if I said _no_?'

He didn't do much expect moan and _shake_ as Gene let his slip out almost completely free of him before pushing it all the way back in. The heat of Sam's body moulded around him, and Gene never having felt so high on anything before. He didn't want it fast. No, slow and steady should see them both through to their ends. 'You've come already, you bratty little jerk. So you let me do as I please, and maybe I might let you come again...'

And he did, worked him with such finesse that he was begging for it, close to sobbing, by the time Gene was ready to let him down. Sam curled in on himself, breathing hard, high spots of colour in his cheeks, his face otherwise gone pale. 'My god.'

'No, it's just me.'

Sam cracked an eye open, drew his arms about himself as he chuckled. 'Barrel of monkeys, you are.'

Gene smirked. He kissed Sam's cheek, and then his lips, slowly. 'Let me fetch us a cloth.' He knew the floor would be empty this time of night, but still, he drew on his trousers and his camel-hair. When he returned to his office, Sam had drawn himself up onto the couch, tucked himself into the corner of it. The bottoms of his socks were grey from their time rolling about on the floor.

'You okay?'

Sam nodded. 'Yeah. Just messy.'

'You're awfully quiet.'

He chuckled again, took the towel that Gene offered him. 'I'm awfully shagged out.'

It was a nice look on him. His eyes closed as something akin to peacefulness settled over him, and Gene watched from on high, a smile on his lips and something warm in his chest. 'We could shower in the back…'

'I need a moment, okay. I'm not moving from this spot.'

Sure, he could have carried Sam – wrapped him in his camel-hair – but the thought of curling up with him on the settee, well, that was a nice one too. So he did it, draping the coat over the both of them. 'Just a bit of shut-eye, you hear? If we get caught in this state, we'll be tarred and then feathered… oh, and then we'll be lynched.' And it worried him, it did, but the thought of it was too bloody tempting.

'Mhmm.' He slid an arm about Sam, and Sam snuggled in close. 'Loud and clear.'

And he listened to Sam and his breathing, as it evened out. Listened to the soft little sounds Sam made as he slept. Sam's sleep seemed untroubled – but somewhere along the line, Gene drifted off as well.

If he dreamed, on waking, his mind was a blank slate. All he knew was Sam in his arms, he could watch the rise and fall of his chest. Sam tilted his head back – he was already awake – and a smile slowly spread across his lips. 'I feel like making some sort of understatement.'

Gene gave him a quick peck on the lips. 'Well, you would.'

Sam giggled, and wriggled about – still so naked in Gene's arms. He slipped one of his own arms about him, pressed himself closer. 'So, should we shag again – or should you take me home?'

It was dangerous either way, but Gene was willing to risk it. 'If home's what you want to call that mouldy shithole of yours, then that's where we'll be going.'

Sam laughed at that – it was definitely the truth.

–  
–

**V.**

They'd been at it all morning since the shout had first come in, keeping an eye on the bank where Scott Wallace was holed up with his seven hostages; really, there were better things Gene could have been doing his day, like cutting out early for lunch and absconding with Sam for at least half of the afternoon. He'd mostly enjoyed Sam's company as it were, but now that there was something new on the table – well, Gene didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he certainly wanted to make the best of it. Sam made him feel great. Shagging Sam, it made him feel alive.

They'd wasted hours already on the bastard inside the bank, and the sodding bank manager hadn't even deigned yet to make an appearance; they were still waiting on the blueprints before making any sort of grand move, but it was also a bloody hot Monday in June, and Gene's patience was wearing thin. Gene could only hope that Wallace would get sick and tired of this whole bloody affair and turn himself in like the good little boy everyone knew he wasn't.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with one hand, gestured to the bank with his loudhailer in the other. 'Bloody bollocks, this is. Should just bust in there and show him what's what.' 

Sam had a funny look on his face, maybe the heat was getting to him. 'I almost agree with you you, Guv.'

Gene raised an eyebrow at him. 'Oh?' He tilted the loudhailer closer to Sam, and said into it: 'Are you saying I'm right and you're wrong and this whole mess is a waste of bloody time?'

Sam jumped in shock, scowled, and knocked the both the loudhailer and Gene's hand away with one sharp blow. He straightened his shoulders and pulled himself to his full height, still quite short of Gene's – he was trying to look imposing. And while he did cut quite a dashing figure, all Gene could do was grin down at him. And Sam was glaring right back.

'I'm a much better negotiator, that's all – I've got more experience.'

'Oh hush you,' Gene snapped, tapped the loudhailer against the roof, and jerked his head towards the bank. 'You're just sore at me, is all. I never did make you that hat.'

Sam let out a small, frustrated sigh. 'We need Wallace to believe we're on his side. You're incapable of compromising with the target… I sometimes wonder if you're capable of compromise at all. This isn't a game, Guv – you don't have to antagonise the bloke with the gun.' 

Gene smirked and, canting his hip back, showed off his own firearm, neatly tucked away. 'And don't you dare throw it away this time, or I'm breaking your face.' He leaned back against the car and, passing the loudhailer from one hand to the other, gave Sam a playful-enough shove. 'This from the bloke who's second favourite thing to do is to end up at the wrong end of some unfriendly fellow's gun.'

'Look, it's not like I ask for that to happen – '

'Oh of, course not, you never do – oi! What's that you've got there?' That last bit was shouted through the loudhailer, he really did like having this thing around. Ray, grinning like a bastard, had made his way across the cordon with a box in hand, a couple of plods clearing things up in his wake. Ray held up the box as though it contained all the wonders of the world, and him radiating delight (as well as a good deal of spite).

'Doughnuts!' he announced with a grin, and everyone Sam laughed at the uproarious joke that had been made – he never would hear the end of that one, not anytime soon. Sam drew his arms across his chest and Gene laughed as he elbowed him. Sure, Sam was giving him _that_ look, the _I fucking hate you_ glare that was hotter than any other, but Gene knew differently.

'Ah, he's a man of simple pleasures,' Sam exhaled, seething. 'He never misses an opportunity for mockery.'

Gene gave him another nudge with his elbow. 'That's you're own bloody fault, Gladys. You're an easy target.'

'I'm also his superior officer, and it would help if you – '

There was a noticeable creak as the front door to the bank was pushed open. All eyes were on it in a flash, and Gene passed the loudhailer back to his right hand so he could shout into it as Wallace was soon to make an appearance. 'So – Wilson, was it, or Wallace?' Sam groaned again, loudly. 'Are you finished with your little tantrum, or are you ready to have another? We haven't got all day.'

Sudden chaos erupted as a gaggle of squawking, sobbing birds came rushing out the double doors. 'Don't shoot, don't shoot!' was heard as they scattered, plods darting out to chase them down and get them out of the way.

Wallace came next. He had another girl in his grip, the last of the hostages, a gun pressed to the side of her head.

'Ah, good,' sighed Gene, 'more of your dramatics.'

' _Guv_ ,' Sam hissed.

Wallace grimaced, and the girl whimpered as he tightened his grip on her, turning the gun on Gene. 'Don't you get mouthy with me, copper. Now – you're gonna hand me the keys to that Ford there, and I'm gonna drive away along with my new little friend. Don't worry,' he kissed her cheek, and she shook harder, wept louder. 'Just as soon as I'm certain no one's followed me, I'll drop her somewhere safe.'

Gene glared. 'Like hell I'll let you anywhere near my motor. You hand that girl over, and you put your gun down.' He had replaced the loudhailer with his own gun while Wallace was flapping his gums. 'Make this easy, unless you're really hoping to end up front and centre on the evening paper?'

' _Guv_ – '

Gene paid Sam no heed. Wallace was really glaring at him now, gun pressed back against the girl's head. 'You don't have to play along with me. You won't hurt me as long as I've got this here hostage, and I – ' He took a step back.

Went to take another one, retreating back into the bank, which wasn't what Gene wanted at all – they'd wasted too much bloody time already. Gene went to dash around the Cortina, just as Wallace's heel caught against the side of the step and he went down, hard.

It had been chaotic already, but now all hell decided to break loose.

The gun went off. Gene dropped do the ground and hoped Sam had the sense to do the same – hoped that poor bird's brain hadn't just been splattered all over the bank's exterior like extra chunky raspberry jam.

She shrieked – while usually a bad sign, if the girl was shouting, she probably hadn't been shot. Gene hoisted himself up and saw her running across the courtyard, heels clattering loudly. Wallace, the bastard, had already recovered himself, and was running the opposite way.

Sam was racing towards him. And as Sam had gone one way, Gene went the other.

Faster, faster, faster. Gene was close to out of breath but Wallace was well in sight. Wallace knocked into Sam and he took it hard, like the nancy he sometimes was, dropping to the ground and clutching at his side. Right then, it was up to the Gene Genie to grab this bastard before he could give them all the slip.

And he jumped, slammed into the man, who went down with a gasping grunt, just like a sack of potatoes. Gene grabbed his arm and yanked him up, just as something hard – what the hell, a knife – hit the ground and skittered away, trailing blood as it did.

Bloodied. Knife. _Shit_. He very quickly put two and two together. 'Sam!'

Gene punched Wallace twice in the face to deal with him lickity-split, tossed him sideways as he clambered to his feet. Dropped back down right beside Sam as his suddenly pale-faced deputy drew a bloodied hand back away from his side. 'I didn't know he was still armed.'

'None of us did, sweetheart. Bloody fucking hell, get us an ambulance here! Officer down!'

'This isn't the way it was supposed to go,' Sam said, getting that look in his eyes he used to, when he acted like he hadn't come to CID of his own free will, before he'd taken a look at what was good and right in his life, and properly settled down. 'I'm not supposed to...'

Gene took his hand away from where he had pressed it to Sam's gut. It seemed like too much blood for such a small gash, only maybe it was longer, went deeper, and Gene wasn't _sure_. 'And you won't – here. Keep your hand pressed right there, nice and firm, that's a good boy. Oi Carling, you got that ambulance on the line already? Hurry up!'

But Sam was right. It shouldn't have happened like this, this wasn't the way it was meant to go at all.

–

Turned out that the ambulance would take too much bloody time getting there, and Sam was running short on blood as it was, so Gene hoisted him up and into the back of the Cortina – told him not to bleed too much, hopefully he'd follow that order without giving his Guv any sass – and drove him there himself. There was a definite lack of sass. Sam wasn't up for making much sound at all.

He was also wilting like a flower in the summer heat, pale-faced, glassy-eyed, as they arrived at the hospital. 'Guv,' he said, slurred it some. 'Guv, I'm bleeding.'

'Daft git, that you are.' Then there was shouting as Gene hoisted him back up and out of the car, and into A&E. Didn't take much convincing on his part for them to rush Sam into the back. Which meant Gene had nothing to do but worry about his partner as he drank too much coffee and smoked too many fags. How the bloody hell any of this could have _happened_?

–

The coffee tasted like shit, but at least it was free. Gene had been told that everything was fine now, Sam was being taken care of, he just needed to wait things out until Sam was completely stabilised and could be seen. Gene chugged back another cup of coffee, paced about the narrow little hall, hand itching, he'd kill for a fag. He'd left his lighter in the car, wouldn't dare run out to get it, because it would just be his luck that if he left, that was when they'd come out to finally tell him something more about Sam.

He wasn't one for begging, for pleading, but as he paced in silence and wondered if he'd ever see his DI alive again, he made an exception – just the one.

–

'Seventeen stitches.' That seemed like an awful lot. Made it seem like the cut had really been all that long, all that deep, all that _dangerous_. All Gene could see of it was fresh linen bandaging, the faintest spot of red at the centre – but, as he'd been told by the doctor and three different matrons, that was to be expected at this stage of things. 'You feeling any worse for the wear?'

Sam looked horrible. He was pale-faced still, his eyes gone a bit blank, at least when they were lolling to the side and focused on something that Gene, or any one who was sober, could see. Was staying over night at the hospital for the night, they'd decide how long he'd be staying based on that, and the gown did nothing for him – made him look a little gaunt, a lot like a ghost.

'Don't worry,' Sam chuckled, hardly sounded like he felt it. 'I'm sure I've had better.'

Gene nodded. Felt something try to bubble up inside him, the wrong thing to say, but he shoved it aside and nodded once again. 'Alright then. What's the doc's orders?'

'Rest up. Work's okay. Nothing too strenuous.' He ticked each thing off neat as you please, like it were his to-do list.

Another nod, Gene at a real loss. 'That's you on desk duty.'

'Hrm.'

'Don't you act too eager, then I can't think of it as a punishment.'

'Punishment?'

'Because you went and got yourself…' Gene sighed. 'Stabbed.' It really hadn't been Sam's fault. Just bad luck, that's all – but Sam had drifted off again, there was no point in Gene finishing what he was saying. It could be Sam's fault if Gene wanted it to, but that didn't make it any better.

What happened had happened.

He felt, in a word or bloody three, quite completely off.

–

The mood followed him out the hospital, followed him home. Followed him all night long as he drank too long, as he tried to suss out what was going on – and yet, all the while, he knew exactly what it was. He might have appeared calm as he took control of the situation (he was already in control). But Sam's blood on his hands… Sam having been stabbed… The possibility that Sam might die, that he might lose Sam – that made him feel more than he was willing to stand.

They kept Sam in hospital two nights. The day of the third, the heat wave broke – rain from the north cooled them all off – and Sam was back at the station, not quite as pale, still a little out of sorts.

'What's that?'

'Present, to welcome you home.'

'You finally made me that hat.' Sam's mouth twitched into a grin. 'Thanks.'

Maybe Gene was wrong for having played it the way he had. But maybe he wasn't.

'Exactly.' He smoothed down the untidy ruffle of hair at Sam's brow, before setting the paper crown atop his head. 'And if Ray says anything about it, I'll tell him to go choke on a doughnut.'

Sam's face crinkled as he laughed.

–

It wasn't accusatory, as he said it – and it was Sam, so it just as easily could have been so. 'Work's kept you busy. You'll come over tonight, won't you?'

It couldn't have been that Sam was looking for a kiss and a cuddle. Gene nodded. 'Sure.'

Sam had worn a neutral enough expression, but there, right there, was the slightest hint of a frown. 'You can keep an eye on me. Make sure I don't pass out in my hoops.'

'We both know you'd never eat hoops.'

Only they were both wrong, as Sam didn't have energy to cook anything more, and Gene wasn't in the right sort of mood to offer to do it himself. Not that he was angry – or sad – or anything like that. But he wasn't quite feeling himself, and he wasn't quite sure what to do.

He didn't like not knowing what to do. You have a problem, hit it hard enough and it's bound to go away – and sure, he'd hit Wallace plenty, and the bastard would be going away for a good long time, but that hadn't actually made Gene feel even a little bit better. Because Sam was hardly any better. Because he never should have been hurt.

And it wasn't Sam's fault, it wasn't Sam's fault, but Gene was feeling things, things he didn't want to feel – 

He took a very deep breath. Sam tilted his head up and to the side. 'What did I do this time?'

Gene snorted. If Sam even knew. 'Nothing. You want me to stay over?'

Maybe he shouldn't have asked. Sam's mood shifted, tentative and unsure. But he bit his lip, nodded slowly. 'Yeah.'

Gene nodded – that was that. 'Right then. I'll pour us some drinks.'

Sam started to say something – probably that it wasn't a good idea, mixing painkillers with whisky – but the pills weren't all that strong anyway, and Sam needed something stronger. Sam went from the kitchenette to the bed, pulled the covers back and winced a whole lot. Gene, in the meantime, poured two doubles. Sam had gone shopping since his last visit – there was yet more good liquor stashed under the sink, and better glasses for them to drink it from. He handed one over to Sam without comment, then sat at the foot of the fold-out cot, his own in his hand.

He felt a little like he was drifting in and out of himself. But the way Sam kept looking at him. And the things Gene kept thinking, kept feeling. None of it was really helping, he kept sliding a little bit more out of himself.

The feeling of not knowing what to do returned in triplicate, forms that needed to be signed and resigned and then again, all over again. He wanted to hold Sam close, wanted to push him away. Wanted to keep him from ever, ever being hurt again, but how? Because that just couldn't happen, the risk would always be there. They were cops, theirs wasn't an easy job.

He turned to look at Sam, but Sam had his eyes closed as he drank. Gene had finished his glass already, and as he refilled it with another double of amber-gold whisky, he felt certain that, very soon, he'd be drinking straight of the bottle. It was just one of those nights, and he was in one of those moods.

But Sam yawned, and that spelled the end of things. Because that meant he had to take Sam's glass from him, stowing it on the worktop – right beside his own. He had to make sure Sam was settled in, even went so far as to take off his boots and socks; Sam grunted a few times as he tried to find the best way for him to lie down, and even after he'd made up his mind and stopped shifting about, he didn't exactly look nice and comfy. And Gene was there, staring down at him as he started to drift off, so as Sam's eyes opened, it was a bit of a surprise.

'You'll stay?'

Gene nodded. 'Said I would, didn't I?' He shot a look at his coat, where he'd hung it besides Sam's, though sometime over the course of the evening, Sam's had slipped off the hook and dropped to the ground. Gene went over to pick it up and hang it back where it belonged. Just one night, that couldn't hurt. He'd spent so little time with Sam as he was staying in the hospital, as he was stuck in a desk at the station. It seemed the least that he was due.

Sam smiled, shut his eyes again.

Gene took care as he eased into bed behind Sam. Oh sure, he could have stayed up later, drank some more, but the sun had long since set and maybe he wasn't the one who was recovering from being stabbed, but he felt dead tired inside. That should have made it easier to sleep – only he couldn't sleep at all.

Felt every little twitch Sam's body made as he slept, each sleepy shuffle, each mumble of unintelligible words. Each dream which turned into a nightmare – oh, those, of those there were plenty. But Sam didn't rouse, and Gene held him close, whispered soothing words against his ear until he settled back down.

And it felt right, but it felt wrong, like something raw that had been peeled back, left open and exposed. He knew exactly what he felt for Sam, and the thought was terrifying. He wanted to run from it – to deny it could possibly – but the thump thump of Sam's heart, the smell of his hair, the warmth of his body. Gene couldn't actually push that away.

'No!' Sam jerked awake, grabbed hold of one of the arms Gene had wrapped around him and bent his head to it. He was shuddering, and Gene could hardly sit up, but he rubbed Sam's back as his breath hitched and he sobbed.

'Bad one?' One of them needed to ask the obvious question.

Sam nodded slowly, a little jerkily. 'Don't worry. I'm okay.'

'Okay. Sure.' But Sam didn't pull away so Gene continued to rub his back. 'You tell those bad dreams to bugger off, the Gene Genie's on the case.'

Sam chuckled, small and weary – about the same as Gene felt. 'Where would I be without the Gene Genie's expertise?'

The sun had already risen, Gene knew he needed to get a move on, and soon. 'You think you can tend to your own bath? I'll fry up something for breakfast.'

Sam nodded, yawned. 'Thanks.'

It gave Gene more time alone with his thoughts – ha bloody ha, just what he wanted. Gave him plenty of time to scramble the eggs and butter the toast. To listen to Sam puttering about in the bathroom, the water running as he showered. He looked at least 75% better when he came off, towel slung about his hips.

Gene glanced at the bandages – good. Spotless.

'You didn't have any trouble keeping that dry?'

'Nope. Told you, Guv – I'm okay.'

'Right – well, that's still you off for the day. You need to get some better sleep,' and so did Gene, bloody hell. He downed some coffee instead, picked up Sam's platter and set it down in front of him. Downed some more of his coffee, and rubbed at his eyes. rubbed at his eyes. 'I'll bring some paperwork round at lunchtime, so you don't die of boredom.'

Sam huffed. 'Thanks, Guv.'

'You need anything, though… just ring Phyllis. She'll patch it through to me.'

'Yes, Guv.'

'I'm going now.'

'I know, Guv – thanks for everything. For making breakfast.'

'It's nothing, Gladys – you'll pay me back, I'm sure.' He finished his coffee, set the mug down in the sink. It wouldn't hurt. He didn't need to go _right_ ,then, but it was like an itch he couldn't quite scratch, and something had to break. 'Just, get some more rest? Okay?'

'Okay.'

'You need anything – '

'Just ring Phyllis. I've got it, Guv – you're going to be late, and you're still in yesterday's suit.'

'Now you're just trying to get rid of me.'

Sam chuckled, but he looked deeply pained. Wasn't sure if it was his injury, or if it was what he was saying. And Sam, being something of a sap – well, it could have been either. 'I'm not.'

'Right, of course not.'

Gene nodded, but Sam had already turned his attention onto to his meal. Maybe Gene was making a mistake – another mistake – and how could it be their history was built on bad choices and wrong decisions, but still feel so right? The thought of staying with Sam shouldn't have frightened him that much – and he was a man, yes, and he was the Guv, indeed, but he understood what fear was, he knew when he was afraid.

'Right – take care, Tyler.'

And Gene let himself out.


End file.
